


Venus Looking Away

by vatofbaconfat (obicifical)



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Forced Orgasm, I regret everything, M/M, Other, Robogore, genital trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obicifical/pseuds/vatofbaconfat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captured by a Dark Energon-infected Megatron and brought aboard the Nemesis, Optimus struggles to survive.</p><p>(Warnings for: rape, genital trauma.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venus Looking Away

**Author's Note:**

> Not crossposted from my tumblr, unsurprisingly enough. I started writing this as sort of a personal dare and then it took off and now it's a horrible monster, please take it away from me, I'm so sorry Optimus I swear I love you please forgive me
> 
> A disclaimer: obviously, I don't condone tying up your enemies and performing sexual violence upon them, and I also don't condone people under the age of 18 reading this.
> 
> (Here layeth a memorial to a link of this work translated into Chinese by interburstgap. Unfortunately it looks like it's been deleted.)

Optimus shifts, drawing his legs underneath himself in a kneeling stance to ease the ache in his upper back. His arms are held in standard-issue wall cuffs, keeping them straight and out to the sides, but unusually enough he's been lowered into a sitting position on the floor rather than hung in the air.

The distant hum of the _Nemesis_ ' engines is the only thing keeping him company right now; occasionally he can hear the shifting of peds outside the door, heavy and unfamiliar. Even if he could manage to get out- which doesn't look possible right now- there's the question of how to get off the ship. Try as he might, he can't fly.

Footsteps resound outside his prison and Optimus jerks his helm up, tensing. There's a pause, voices chattering softly, and the door folds upwards to reveal Megatron's imposing figure. Optimus gets a glimpse of a small Insecticon squad outside before the door shuts behind the warlord.

Neither one of them speaks; Megatron walks around him, arms folded behind his back in his usual contemplative pose. Optimus follows him as much as he can, optics wary and wide as Megatron completes his circuit and kneels in front of him.

"Well," the warlord hums. "I always knew your self-sacrificial nature would get you in trouble one day, Optimus."

The Prime's optics narrow slightly. Megatron laughs raspily, grabs his chin inbetween his thumb and forefinger.

"Caught in my web, as it were. I've been looking forward to this for so long, and now that I actually have you, simply killing you doesn't seem like enough."

Hooking his claws into Optimus's battlemask, he rips downwards, shredding the steel into long ribbons. The semi stiffens with a grunt, pain searing the connection between mask and helm, though thankfully the mask itself has no sensor nodes of any kind. Energon beads up here and there, tracing paths down his face and dripping onto the floor.

"That's better." Megatron brushes his hand clean idly, smirking.

"What do you _want?_ " Optimus crooks his helm, futilely attempting to wipe some of the energon off onto his shoulder.

"Many things. The location of your base, your unconditional and full surrender, your entire team's heads on pikes, _your_ head mounted above my throne on Cybertron.. little things, you know." Megatron gets to his peds and circles around behind the restrained mech, grabbing a ped in each hand and tugging his legs out behind him.

Optimus stiffens, grunting as he's forced into an all-fours position minus the hands on the floor. His back complains; he ignores it, more focused on the sharp feeling of vulnerability blooming as Megatron secures his legs to floor with solid-light bars.

"Most of all, Optimus--" A large hand grabs the back of Optimus's helm, yanks it back until he's staring at a faint red light blinking near the ceiling. A camera. "I want to see you _broken_. I want your _team_ to see you break."

Megatron lets go and Optimus jerks his helm down to stare at the floor, looking at it as though it has the answer he needs to get out of this mess. "You may break me, but my team can survive without me. They will not stop looking for me."

"Tcheh. You are naive if you think they can track down this ship. Once was luck; twice would be a miracle, and _I_ do not believe in miracles." There's a _vop_ , the sound of something unsubspacing, and Optimus jerks as Megatron plugs something into his neck-mounted datajack. A low-grade pain suppression code writes itself into his systems, and the chip is taken away as quickly as it was inserted.

"No, Optimus.. it's just you and me, and your crew. And perhaps the humans too-- Soundwave's told me about how they don't take you seriously." There's a whirr-hiss of hydraulics and tension cables, a _thunk_ as Megatron kneels behind him. A heavy hand touches his back, fingers stroking along his smokestacks. Hot fear boils in his intake, though outwardly there's no sign, and the Matrix thrums deep within Optimus' chest.  
  
"Do you think they'll respect you now, hmm?" Megatron's warm frame alights over Optimus' back, the warlord's voice brushing up against his audial. The Prime jerks his helm back and to the side, eliciting a satisfying _clang!_ when their helms collide. Megatron snarls, not dazed in the least, and reaches around to grab Optimus' neck from the front, immobilizing his head.  
  
"You still think you can get out of this? You are in my _grip_ , Optimus! I could kill you, right here, right now. You have no power here!"  
  
"Then kill me, and be done with it." Optimus struggles, back arching outwards as he attempts to pull himself out of Megatron's chokehold. The flightframe rumbles a laugh, letting go, instead taking a sculpted hip in each hand and leaning his weight on the prone figure beneath him.  
  
"That is what you want, isn't it? No. You will not go out a martyr." Megatron arches up, takes a thin finial inbetween his dente and nips. Fluids run down over Optimus's audial- energon, probably, though the pain is invisible thanks to the suppression chip. Optimus wills his fuel pump to less of a frantic rhythm, helm falling; Megatron paws lightly at his inner thighs, surprisingly gentle considering his likely goal.  
  


Large fingers probe at the seams on Optimus' inner thighs, touching the spots where blue armor meets silver plating, and the Prime tenses hard, his frame creaking from stress. Megatron rumbles a laugh and slips his claws into the sunken discs adorning the swell of Optimus' hips, rubbing in lazy circles.

The Prime grinds his dente, keeping his expression as blank as possible as Megatron probes under his smokestack Y-mount on his lower back, touching spots long left dormant by Optimus' celibacy. His seams tense, sparks of interest alighting in his frame involuntarily, and he leans forward almost instinctively to avoid the warlord's touch.

Megatron scoffs and pulls him back roughly, squeezing Optimus' hips and probing underneath his cobalt hipguards, easily searching out a cluster of sensitive wires in his left hip and tweaking it. The Prime twitches, remaining silent, struggling to try and dampen his frame's reactions. He feels as though his body's betraying him, though deep down he knows it's Megatron betraying him by forcing this on him. 

  
By forcing this on his  _team_ , he realizes as Megatron gropes inbetween his thighs firmly.  A hot coal of anger alights in his spark and instead of repressing it he hangs onto it like a lifeline, wondering if Megatron's broadcasting this live or recording it for later. He's not sure which he'd rather have.  


"Open," Megatron rumbles, scraping a claw up the middle seam of Optimus' valve panel. The Prime stays still, hands curling into fists, and Megatron leans over his frame till his lips brush up against the back of Optimus' helm.

" _Open_ , or I will tear your panel off, and I doubt I will be in a charitable enough mood to have it reattached anytime soon." The flightframe digs his fingers into the front and aft seams of Optimus' cover, twitching his wrist in a slight tug. The semi hesitates, helm bowing; the iron gaze of the camera bores into his cranial case.

He opens after a long moment, baring his valve to Megatron's touch. Artificially cooled air brushes up against unprimed sensors and he rocks forward, grunting softly when Megatron gently touches his anterior cluster.

"Different." Megatron manipulates the dermamesh, probing a digit just past the rim of Optimus' opening. The Prime jerks, expecting a harsh entry, and Megatron scoffs a laugh.

 _Get it over with_. His optics narrow, and he buries himself in the miniscule comfort of the Matrix, struggling to seperate his mind from his body- something easier said than done. The tang of electrons in the air rests on his glossa heavily; he closes his mouth, not having realized it was open, feeling a small zap as Megatron's charge leaps to his frame.

There's a dull scrape of metal-on-metal and suddenly warm wetness surrounds Optimus' valve array, forcing a sharp groan out of him before he stifles himself. Large hands grip his upper thighs as Megatron smoothes his glossa over his anterior nodes; warmth makes itself known and comfortable in the Prime's abdomen as his autonomic systems kick in and ready his valve array.

"That's more like it," Megatron murmurs. One long finger strokes against the semi's valve rim, wiping up the first few escaping drops of lubricant, and Megatron reaches forward to rub the pearlescent fluid against Optimus' lips. He clenches his dente, tugging his helm away, and Megatron lets out an amused huff before bending back down.

Optimus' hips stiffen as the flightframe's glossa returns, flicking over his anterior cluster with quick, light movements. The stimulation is too much too soon, and his head drops, all of his effort poured into holding his frame still and taut. The Matrix's presence does little to help the shame boiling in his midsection as his valve reacts; charge zaps at his neck cabling, leaping from conductive metal to conductive metal and leaving behind black-singed spots in its wake.

Megatron latches onto his exterior cluster with a bass rumble from deep within; the Prime tenses as sharp teeth brush up against the fragile dermametal. The warlord plays Optimus's body like a violin, practically throwing his power in the semi's face; something like nausea roils his tanks as the little part of him that still calls itself Orion remembers Megatronus and their nights together.

"There," Megatron hums, drawing away. Optimus attempts to look back, only catching a glimpse of brushed metal as Megatron straightens himself. He doesn't flinch at the hiss of a panel retracting; instead he looks up at the camera, shoulders tensing as Megatron grips a hip with one hand.

 _Do not let him win_ , he wants to say, and he tries to say it with his optics, the draw of his mouth. This will gut his team down to their sparks; he doesn't know how they'll react to this, whether it'll crush them or ignite them. He hopes the latter. An illogically hopeful part of him wonders if their fury will be enough to find the _Nemesis_ on its own; maybe they'll find him and rescue hi-

" _Ah!_ " His helm jerks downwards, back hunching as Megatron slides into him with one sharp, painful thrust. Heat flares behind his optics as Megatron barks a laugh, long fingers clamping onto Optimus's shoulder.

"That was worth this entire exercise in patience." The warlord pulls out of Optimus' valve slowly, the plates on his spike skidding against the Prime's tense passage walls. There's a tinge of pain on the edge of Optimus' neural net, strong enough to overcome the pain chip and settled in the pit of his abdomen. Emotion swells dizzyingly in Optimus' chassis, nausea and anger and fear all at once; his hips twitch away fitfully, caught in Megatron's hold.

 _This too shall pass_. He says it to himself over and over again, keeping his helm down. His frame keeps seesawing between relaxing his valve and attempting to repel the unwanted intruder, though the choice seems to be edging more towards the former the more Megatron moves. He's _gentle_ , now, tense but careful as he rolls his hips into Optimus. The semi focuses on the crack of light peering through the bottom of the door far across from him, wishing Megatron would simply take his own pleasure and _leave_ him.

"Mm- you're _good_ , Optimus. Looser than I thought." Megatron strokes Optimus' aft lightly; Optimus winces at the sound of metal scraping metal, a small warning coming up on his HUD as Megatron claws a gouge in the brushed cybertanium. His valve cycles down around the flightframe's spike reflexetively, ekeing a pleased, bass croon from the mech behind him.

He slides home inexorably, Optimus' valve beginning to readily admit him; the ache is little more than a distraction at the back of his mind now, lessening the more Megatron moves. Hands drawn into clenching fists unseen, the Prime sags forward with his helm dipped against his chest. He can barely even attempt to push back against Megatron- he's running too hot, and the resulting stretch as Megatron thrusts inwards against the semi's flexing valve walls doesn't help a single bit.

The warlord pauses for a klik to adjust his position, knees bumping up against Optimus' inner calves, and then a large hand grips his helm and forces it back with a sharp yank. The Prime thrashes stutteringly, engine snarling as his optics focus on the red dot peering from the blackness of the ceiling.

"You cannot hide," Megatron rasps, tugging Optimus' lower half into a rough thrust. The semi's engine snarls in reply, his frame straining forward against the warlord's hold as Megatron dips a hand below his abdominal plating; pleasure zings up Optimus' spinal column as rough fingertips manipulate his exterior cluster, timed almost perfectly with the thrusts spreading his valve open. Optimus squeezes his optics shut, mouth forming a thin, strained line as a shudder rocks his frame. Tension knots itself in the pit of his tanks, charge pinging against Megatron's restraining hand.

" _Yes_ -" Metal clangs harshly against metal as Megatron ups his pace, Optimus' helm bobbing slightly; the warlord's grip weakens and Optimus tugs his helm free, mouth opening slightly as he struggles not to pant. His valve is already tensing, alarms warning him of his own dangerously high temperatures; nausea wars with the ecstasy burning behind his optics.

He curses his own frame for reacting, his gaze wearing through the floor as instinct pushes his lower half back to meet Megatron's rough caresses over his exterior cluster. A groan wells in his throat, intake tightening with the effort not to make a sound; his vents hitch audibly when Megatron pulls him into his next thrust, driving down and _in_ hard enough to elicit a low rumble of the Prime's engine. His thighs shake as the charge tearing through his frame peaks, and Megatron blessedly holds still as Optimus tips over into blank, staticky bliss silently.

A tremor rolls through his body as overload surges and ebbs, his front half sagging as he comes back to reality. As soon as Optimus gathers enough strength to raise his helm somewhat Megatron slams into his still-tense valve, battering against charge nodes still ticking with electricity; his thrusts are unrelentingly harsh and quick, clangs resounding throughout the room as Optimus pulls on his restraints hard enough to alarm his pressure-stress systems. Post-overload sensitivity usually isn't a problem during interface, granted that one waits for the interface array's self-repair systems to reset the sensor nets; Megatron's continuing stimulation, however, is bordering on the edge of agony.

Still, Optimus keeps as silent as possible, beyond the involuntary hitches and wheezes of his own vents gasping for cool air. Megatron's already shaking with pre-overload, flight engine whining; the Prime focuses on the floating sting of shallow gouges cut into his frame, hanging onto thin threads of hope and _rage_ like lifelines.

Megatron shakes and hisses through his dente, hands clamping on Optimus' slim waist, and something _stabs_ through the thick lining of Optimus' valve, jolting him as energon wells. He gasps audibly, choking off a cry in his intake as transfluid hits the back of his valve; he's not sure if something tore or ripped, he shouldn't have torn at all since Megatron's holding still-

The warlord pulls out and something rakes along his inner walls, _slicing_ , dragging gouges down through Optimus' sensor net. It takes everything he has not to scream; instead he lets out a strangled groan, Megatron's answering rumble of pleasure reverberating in his audios. Something wet hits the floor as Megatron draws out all the way and stands stiffly, the acrid acid-sweet smell of energon hitting Optimus' olfactory sensors as the Prime trembles. 

"Does that _hurt?_ " Megatron's voice is soft, almost concerned as he tucks his spike back in. Optimus gets a glimpse of polished chrome and blue before Megatron kneels in front of him; in his wearied state he can't help leaning back as the flightframe takes his chin between thumb and forefinger.

"It's less than you _deserve_." This close Optimus can feel Megatron's exvent across his face; the Matrix surges in his chassis, the sickly-sweet smell of dark energon seemingly angering it. Oral fluid pools under Optimus' glossa as Megatron traces the clotted tear where his battlemask used to attach. He leers, all sharp teeth, and leans forward suddenly to press his lips to Optimus's.

The Prime jerks back as far as he possibly can, until the tendon cables in his shoulders bend and creak threateningly, and still Megatron follows, nipping at his lower lip before pulling away. He snorts, seemingly disappointed; Optimus' engine snarls and he curses at him in Iaconian, allowing his frothing violation a moment's release.

Not that it does any good. Megatron spits on the floor and stands, turning on his heel and leaving the room. Left alone to his own devices Optimus exvents, groaning, shearing off into the opening line of an ancient hymn to Primus as agony pulses in time to his fuel cycling. He shuts his valve panel, juddering as metal smoothes over the raw, cleaved edges of his protoform, but despite the pain it feels better to cover himself.

He wants to go _home._


End file.
